Walk with me for a Mile
by snowdarkred
Summary: Scardey-Cat: “Why am I doing this again?” McGee complained from the other side of the door.--Ziva waits for McGee outside the dressing room. She really wants to see this. Crossdressing, Ziva/McGee. Now with holiday story and How They Met story! Sap.
1. Scaredy Cat

Title: Scaredy-Cat

Author: snowdarkred

Ratings/Pairings/Warnings: PG, Ziva/McGee, crossdressing.

Summery: _"Why am I doing this again?" McGee complained from the other side of the door._ Ziva waits for McGee outside the dressing room. She really wants to see this.

Author's Note: I wrote het?!?! D: Holy shit. Written for the fledgling NCIS kink meme on LJ.

* * *

Scaredy-Cat

"Why am I doing this again?" McGee complained from the other side of the door. She heard the rustle of cloth and saw a flash of blue over the low door of the dressing room.

"Because, McGee, you said that you were willing to try anything," she retorted, leaning against the wall. The dressing room was just across from her, and if she tilted her head just so, she could see a sliver of pale skin as Tim tugged at the clothes. "Tony would do it."

No he wouldn't, but Ziva just wanted to see what McGee would say in response. She wasn't disappointed.

"No he wouldn't!" he squawked. She heard a thump and then a string of curses from the direction of the floor. "Would he?"

She snorted, shaking her head even though he couldn't see it. "Of course not. He is a scaredy-mouse."

"Scaredy-cat, Ziva," McGee corrected, righting himself from his fall the the floor.

"Mine makes more sense," she said. She saw his bare feet under the door and smiled. He really had lied when he said that he'd only gotten his nails done once. She could see the professionally smooth curve of his toenails. It made her want to see other parts of him that may have seen professional care.

"Well?" she prompted. "Are you done yet, or do you need help?" She listened to the dry rasp of cloth on cloth and the soft _zzzzz_ of a zipper being done up.

"I've got it," McGee said. There was no movement from inside the dressing room.

"Come out then. I am not one of your superheroes, able to see through walls." She really wanted to see this.

"No."

"No? What, did I pick the wrong size?" She would have to check again; she'd been sure that what she had picked out would work. Maybe it was too big for him.

"I am not leaving the dressing room wearing this."

She sighed. So that was the problem. "McGee, nobody is here but me." She sent a glare at the lingering sales clerk, signaling that the woman better leave before she made Ziva a liar. "You are not embarrassed are you?"

"No! Well, yes," he said. She could almost _hear_ him bite his lip. "I'm a guy, Ziva. A guy in law enforcement. A straight guy in law enforcement."

"So?" she asked, getting ready for some down and dirty logic battling. "Lesbians still wear dresses. Straight women wear pants. Why can't a straight man wear a dress?"

"It not—Ziva, I can't. I just—I'm not against wearing it, but you can't ask me to do it where someone could _see_."

She could push him harder, get him to give in, to do what she wanted, but if she did that it might change their relationship. Give and take. Ziva didn't want to only take.

"All right, open up," she said instead. She straightened from her lean against the wall and marched across the hall to the stall door.

"What!?" he exclaimed. "But—"

"You said you did not want anyone to see," she explained carefully. "So let me in."

There was a pause from the other side of the door as McGee weighed his options, no doubt wondering if he'd be able to hold her off while changing back into his jeans and t-shirt. She smirked, even though he couldn't see it. One way or another, see was going to see what he was wearing—while he was in it.

"Okay," he sighed. She stepped back when she heard the latch slide open. The door swung inwards a little, leaving her just enough room to slip in. She turned eagerly to see what he looked like.

A smile curved her lips at the sight of him in the pale blue dress, and her hand reached out and rested on his flat chest, her fingers curling against the knit fabric.

"You look...." she said, drawing closer to him in the cramped stall. She could feel his heart beat speed up underneath her hand, hear his breath quicken. "Absolutely." She leaned forward. "Wonderful."

She kissed him.

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Comments and reviews = love & puppies. =D


	2. The Give and Take

Title: The Give and Take

Rating/Pairing/Warning: PG-13, Ziva/McGee, crossdressing

Summery: They celebrate the winter holidays in their own special way. Complete sap.

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The Give and Take

Winter holidays were a tricky thing for them, as they discovered five months into this _thing_ they had together. Ziva celebrated Hanukkah, as did the rest of her family. Tim celebrated Christmas, as did the rest of his family. And as they did in other aspects of their strange and new relationship, they compromised, choosing to celebrate their respective holidays with their families and leaving them free to celebrate their own made up holiday together.

It was Tim who came up with the idea, because he was the romantic one in the relationship. Ziva loved it, secretly, when he thought to buy her flowers or chocolate or dinner, all with that same absent air, as if it were perfectly normal to treat your girlfriend like a glass goddess. Ziva would say that it was an American thing, except with their job, she knew that that was not true. Instead, she said that it was a McGee thing, a Tim thing, and it was something she cherished on her darkest days.

On the first day of December, he gave her a rose, tucked into her hair when she woke up that morning. He had already left for work, and she was late again, but she spent the whole time in the shower thinking about what she could do to him with the petals of those flowers.

On the second day of December, she gave him two computer keycaps. Not the whole keyboard, just two keycaps. Just the letters "D" and "L". He gave her a _Look_ and slipped the two pieces of plastic into an empty wine glass on the kitchen counter-top.

On the third day, Tim gave her hand lotion. It was expensive, and it was her favorite scent. When she asked him how he found out just what, exactly, her favorite was, he sputtered and blushed. She smirked, choosing to take any possible privacy invasion in stride because it wasn't like she didn't go through his things too.

On the fourth day, Ziva gave him new headphones and another keycap, this time for the letter "R". It joined the others in the wine glass. She could tell that the letters were confusing him, and she caught him staring at the glass more than once before and after work. She smiled and distracted him with a kiss.

On the fifth day, Tim gave her a new set of lingerie. Ziva laughed and said that it shouldn't count, as it was more of a present to himself, but he just grinned like a schoolboy and told her to try it on. She did, and then they took it off together.

On the sixth day, Ziva got him a new iPod to go with the headphones. She slipped an "O" into his pocket as they left for work. The MP3 player was already full of his favorite lecture series. He hooked it up to a speaker system when they got back to the apartment, and she spent the night trying to ignore the sonorous voice of a computer ethics professor. He dropped the letter into the wine glass before they went to bed.

On the seventh day, he got her a new knife. It was her favorite brand and of excellent quality. She knew that he had gone to Gibbs for help picking it out, but that just made it more perfect. Tim was still a little afraid of their boss, and facing that fear for her? She put on the lingerie again.

On the eighth day, Ziva left a computer game on his pillow before she went to the gym, alongside a "W" and an "E". When she returned, the keycaps were in the wine glass with their fellows, and Tim had already set up the gaming console and gotten out two controllers. He walked her through the basics, and they spent the morning playing against each other.

On the ninth day, he gave her new combat boots. She grinned and put them on for when they went walking. She modeled them for him, and she could tell from the way Tim's eyes lit up that they probably were going to get another kind of exercise instead.

On the tenth day, she returned the favor and got him lingerie. Tim blushed like a virgin, but as always, he could never truly deny her anything. She made sure to make the night extra special for him. She slid an "H" and a "T" onto the nightstand afterward.

On the eleventh day, he gave her a sweater, a large fluffy sweater. She wore it while she read a book and listened to him slaughter monsters on the computer.

On the twelfth day, she gave him high heels, and he blushed like a schoolgirl again. She waited to give him the letter, trying to see if see if he would notice it's lack. He did, and he asked. She dropped the "N" into the wine glass while he watched, and then she went to make his night extra special again.

On the thirteenth day of December, Tim almost got shot while chasing a suspect. She dragged him home as soon as Ducky finished looking him over, driving like even more crazily than before. After they finished the Yay-you're-still-alive-Let's-go-another-round sex, he fished a box out of the bottom drawer of the nightstand and gave it to her. She opened it, revealing a gold Star of David on a silver chain. She trembled to think that she may have lost Tim, her sensitive Tim.

On the fourteenth day, she gave him the letters "I" and "T" over breakfast in bed. She made his favorite: waffles with chocolate chips sprinkled on top and covered in strawberry syrup. She thought it looked disgusting, but the adorably schmoopy face he made when he took the first bite more than made up for it.

On the fifteenth day, he gave a new gun cleaning kit, complete with panoply patches and a heavy-duty bore brush. She immediately took out her gun and began to test it out. Ziva was very happy with the quality, though she worried about how he would feel about her gift the next day.

On the sixteenth day, she gave him a new gun cleaning kit, complete with panoply patches and a heavy-duty bore brush. He grinned, made a sly remark about great minds thinking alike, and immediately took out his gun to test it out. Reaching inside the kit, he found the "H" she had hidden there. It soon joined the others in the rapidly filling wine glass.

On the seventeenth day, Tim gave her a waffle iron, another indirect gift to himself. She rolled her eyes and told him to keep it at his apartment since she was there all the time anyway. He bounced like a schoolboy and went to set it up in the kitchen. Ziva paused in the doorway, enjoying the sight of Tim's rear as he bent to find the waffle mix in the pantry. He paused mid-bend and mentioned needing something from the bedroom. She rolled her eyes—again--and went to retrieve it after he claimed that she "couldn't miss it." On the bed, a bright box wrapped in shiny blue paper beckoned for her to open it. She did, using the knife Tim had given her. Inside, nestled perfectly within the packaging, was a new gun to go with the cleaning kit.

On the eighteenth day, she put the letters "G" and "I" by the wine glass and put her gift on his desk. He stumbled out of the bedroom with sleepy eyes, clutching the keycaps between his fingers. He dropped it into the half-full wine glass and collapsed tiredly at the kitchen table. She presented him with a carefully wrapped box and encouraged him to open it. He did, and she watched as his eye got comically wide at the sight of a woman's blouse in his size.

On the nineteenth day, she woke up at midnight to find Tim swearing in the living room. In his hands was a long rectangular package. He'd tripped and stubbed his toe. She put away her gun and helped him stand again, carefully taking the gift away from him. He blushed and said that she should just open it now. She peeled back the wrapping paper, revealing a Remington 700 Tactical Rifle . She stayed up the rest of the night taking it apart and putting it back together again.

On the twentieth night, Ziva gave him a new old typewriter and the letters "L" and "E". She drifted off to sleep that night to the sound of keys pattering against paper.

On the twenty-first night, Tim took her ice-skating, swinging her around while snow drifted down from the silver-lit clouds above them. She laughed until her face hurt and she couldn't feel her toes.

On the twenty-second night, Ziva gave him a pair of women's leather boots. They were low heeled and soft to the touch. Inside the shoe box, she'd put a keycaps for "H" and "T". He added the letters to the wine glass and went to put the boots on, bending low to zip them up. She knelt to help him and the position gave her the perfect angle to lean up and kiss him.

On the twenty-third night, Tim gave her a night on the town, filled with laughter and snow ball fights. They made snow men outside his apartment, sculpting each one to look like there coworkers. They gave Abby's a dog collar, Tony's an empty DVD case, and Gibbs an empty bourbon bottle. They took photos and submitted them to one of the fansites for Tim's books.

On the twenty-fourth day, Ziva pulled Tim into a car and took him to a clothing store. There, she made him try on dresses until she found the ones that made her heart pound the hardest. She bought them and tugged Tim back to the apartment, where she dropped the letters "E" and "R" in the wine glass as she dragged him back to the bedroom.

On the twenty-fifth day, he slipped something into her purse, but they were too late for the emergency at work for her to stop and see what it was. She checked later, when they had a break after tracking down the missing child. Inside a small envelope was an apartment key.

On the twenty-sixth day, she gave him the letters "A" and "U" and a laptop that she had picked out with Abby's help . It had a huge amount of memory space, a huge screen, and the best accessories that money could buy. It was a win-win for her because she not only made him happy, she also made him want to make her very, very happy. Which he did. In bed. All day.

On the twenty-seventh day, Tim took her out to lunch at her favorite restaurant, and when they sat down, he gave her a journal. Her brow furrowed when she saw that it had writing in it, but the expression cleared when she recognized the shape of the letters. It was Tim's handwriting, Tim's journal, and he wanted her to read the story of how he fell in love with her.

On the twenty-eighth day, she taped the letter "O" to the bathroom mirror and set up her gift in the living room while he showered. He came out with dripping wet hair and the letter, but he froze when he was what she had in her hands. A slow, somewhat mischievous grin bloomed on his face. He set the letter on the table next to the glass and all but carried her back into the bedroom.

On the twenty-ninth day, he made her dinner and handed her a hardbound book. She frowned and opened it, recognizing it as one of his thrillers. And right there, on the very first page, perfectly centered, was the dedication: _"For Ziva, who makes my heart pound and my legs shake and who never, ever takes me too seriously."_

On the thirtieth day, she gave him the last letter, pressing the "Y" into his hand as they kissed. He sat down at the kitchen table and spilled the contents of the wine glass out. She watched as he rearranged them and rearranged them until he got the right combination.

_You are the light in the world._

On the thirty-first day, Tim wore the blue-knit dress with the boots and leggings. They went to the most ridiculously expensive restaurant they could find and spent the whole night staring into each others' eyes until the count down for the new year started. They kissed as fireworks exploded in the air above them.

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Comments are so full of awesomesauce!


	3. The How and Why and What

Title: The How and Why and What (or, Four Ways They Didn't Meet Over Drinks and One Way They Did)

Pairing/Rating/Warnings: Ziva/McGee, PG-13, swearing and alcohol.

Words: lots of them

Summery: This is how they could have met, or they should have met, or possibly would have met. This is how they didn't meet. This is how they did.

* * *

**The How and Why and What**

--

**This is how it happened:**

They accidentally met at the same bar. She was a foreign translator Stateside with the Israeli dignitary. He was an MIT graduate looking to get drunk because the fancy computer company he had worked for fired him after they found out that he based his books off of their internal scandals. They hadn't been happy about that. He hadn't been happy about loosing his source of inspiration for his corporate espionage series.

She ordered three fingers of the hardest liquor the barkeep had whatever it was, and he ordered an Ice Wine Poor Boy Cocktail. She turned to him in surprise, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"What did you just order?" she asked.

He snorted. "An Ice Wine Poor Boy Cocktail," he said, his eyes rolling. She looked at him apraisingly, her eyes flicking over the nice suit and brand new Italian leather shoes that his police contact had convinced him to buy.

"And what," she said lowly, leaning closer. Her side rested on the bar, and she brushed her long hair out of her face. "Exactly." She leaned closer, so close that he could smell the faint hint of her perfume. "Is in an Ice Wine Poor Boy Cocktail?"

---

Ingredients:

1 oz. ice wine

1 oz. VSOP Cognac

4 oz. champagne

Instructions:

Add VSOP Cognac to champagne flute or martini glass and then add champagne.

Add ice wine last.

Garnish with a lemon twist or slice of star fruit if available.

---- ----

**This is how it happened:**

They ran into each other at a business luncheon. Literally. She crashed into him, and his drink took flight. The highball glass crashed to the floor, drawing the attention of the room. Tim shook under the scrutiny, his hands fluttering about his person in a useless deflection technique. He felt his boss's glare from all the way across the room.

The woman looked up, her pretty face framed by a few wayward strands of her hair. Tim had the urge to brush them aside to see her more clearly. He stuck his hands in his pocket.

A man cleared his throat gruffly. The woman blushed slightly and looked down at the wet floor in dismay. The cleaning staff decended upon them as they stood frozen ion place. The man's throat cleared again, closer this time. Much closer. Tim jerked and turned to stare at the man.

"Ziva," he said, his voice as smooth and cold as ice. "Why don't you go with Mr. McGee to get himself another...." The man trailed off, looking at Tim expectantly.

"Er, Bee Tea," he stuttered. He flushed from his neck to his hairline, because this man was his company's new client, and Tim had just admitted that he drank something with Bärenjäger Honey Liqueur in it.

"Bee Tea?" the woman—Ziva—asked, her interest peaked. Tim could see the plain emotion that had shown on her face when they collided fade behind a mask of cool indifference. "What is in it?"

Tim glanced at his client and then back at her. There was a remarkable resemblance between the two Israelis.

"Come with me to the bar, and I'll tell you."

---

Ingredients:

1 part Bärenjäger

2 parts fresh brewed tea

lemon wedge for garnish

Instructions:

Fill a highball glass with ice

Pour in the Bärenjäger and fill the glass with fresh brewed tea

Garnish with a lemon wedge

---- ----

**This is how it happened:**

They tripped over each other while rushing for the same taxi. It was raining, Tim was wet, and he was clutching a bag from the liquor store on the corner. And he was wet. They eyed each other next to the yellow cab, their hands both firmly grasping the door.

"Share?" He said, gesturing with the dripping plastic bag.

"Yes," she said, sliding past him into the car. He got in after her, mindful to place the bag between his feet and the door.

He gave the cab driver his address, and she gave him hers. The backseat smelled like wet dogs and Doritos. The driver pulled into traffic and headed towards Tim's address first. The silence was akward.

"Going to a party?" his seatmate asked, nodding at the bag dripping water unto the muddy floor mat. Her face was impassive.

"Yeah," he said. Maybe he could shock some emotion onto her face. "My friend is unveiling her coffin. How 'bout you?"

He watched as she raised an eyebrow at his words, but she visibly chose not to comment on it. "My partner got kicked out of his ex-girlfriend's apartment in the rain. I'm going to laugh at him."

"Partner?"

"We're on loan to the FBI." she said. She was staring at the bag. "He is, how would you say? A goof-ball?"

"What are the chances of two federal agents sharing the same taxi?" She gave him an odd look. "I work for NCIS," he explained lamely.

The driver pulled up in front of Abby's apartment, right along side her bright red hearse. She stopped him before he left the car, pressing his own cellphone into his pocket. "You should be more careful with your belongings," she said.

He got out and stood in the rain, watching as the taxi pulled away. His phone buzzed. He checked his text messages.

_What's in the bag?_

He typed a reply and sent it to her:

_The makings of Dirty Girl Scout Shots._

_---  
_

Dirty Girl Scout ingredients:

1 oz White Crème de Menthe

1 oz Vodka

1 oz Kahlua

1 oz Bailey's Irish Cream

Instructions:

Mix the Vodka, Kahlua, and Bailey's

Pour over ice

Pour the Crème de Menthe down the center of the glass

---- ----

**This is how it happened:**

They passed each other in the hotel lobby. The security conference was packed full of politicians and body-guards. The hotel had moved his room three times before he was finally settled in a tiny single on the second floor. He dumped his bags at the end of his bed and turned right back around, gunning for the hotel bar.

He passed her again on the stairs. She was going up, and he was going down. Her eyes flickered over him as it happened, and Tim felt his face heat under the scrutiny.

The final time they passed was outside the bar, because the damn hotel really had overbooked, and every important person and their three unnecessary bodyguards had decided to get drunk. He saw the woman from before pause and then walk towards him with purposeful, even steps. He felt his mouth go dry.

"Hello, my name is Ziva," she said, holding out her hand. He shook it with the hand that wasn't clutching at his drink. Her hair reflected the light shining from one of the neon signs hung in the window.

"Tim," he managed. She was hot, he was a geek, these things didn't happen.

"Why don't you and your drink come up to my room?" she said bluntly. Her hair brush along her bare shoulders, calling his eyes to the dip of her shirt collar. She squinted at his glass. "What is that, anyway?"

"Watermelon Julep." His ability to form full sentences was officially shot to hell. The woman—Ziva—was not the kind of woman who usually went for Tim. And she wasn't the type of woman he was used to getting.

She frowned at the drink in confusion. "What is it? I have never heard of that before."

"I'll explain...later," he said. He didn't want to be rude, but....

"Right," Ziva nodded. "Later. After. You will explain to me what a Watermelon Julep is."

---

Ingredients:

1/4 ripe watermelon

1/2 oz. simple syrup

3 sprigs of rosemary

2 oz. Grey Goose vodka

Instructions:

Smash watermelon till it turns to juice

Pick out seeds

Muddle 2 sprigs of rosemary with syrup

Add 3 oz. juice and vodka and shake with ice

Strain

Garnish with sprig of rosemary.

---- ----

**This is how it really happened:**

They truly met at a bar. He slung back another shot and motioned for the bartender to pour him another one. He wanted to be drunk enough to forget everything, to fall into a stupor and not wake up, to not see Kate leaning against the bar three feet away. Because Kate was dead, and he could even take down her killer himself.

She approached him, so afterward he was never sure if they met by accident or design.

"I am sorry," she said softly. "I know that your team was close."

"Is," he snarled. She blinked in surprised and stepped back. "Our team _is_ close."

"I am sorry," she repeated. He hated the finality of her voice and the way her shoulders sagged. She lost her brother, and he lost his teammate, and this whole month was one fucked up event after another. She avoided his eyes and looked at his drink instead. "What are you drinking?" she asked him.

"Whiskey," he said shortly.

"I'll have two shots," she told the bartender as she took a seat beside him.

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Commenting makes you awesome. All drinks featured are real. Be responsible. ;)


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